


Unchain my Heart on the East Side Line

by Amberdreams



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Love at First Sight, M/M, Soul Bond, implied slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberdreams/pseuds/Amberdreams
Summary: In which Jared is a lonely depressed guy recently moved to New York City. Jared is weighed down with guilt in a dead end job, and Jensen is a mystery to be solved.Written for raths_kitten





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raths_kitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raths_kitten/gifts).



> For any New Yorkers, I’ve taken a few liberties with the life of City Hall station. It is visible from the Line #6 train that does a loop through there in order to turn round after terminating at Brooklyn Bridge. You can book an expensive and generally sold out tours of the station, so it’s not closed all the time. But for the purposes of this story, this station is inaccessible, and Jared is travelling on the #5 line.

Jared’s been living in New York for three miserable months. He misses home; he misses his studies; he misses Adrienne. Above all else he misses Adrienne.

 

He swallows past the cold lump of loneliness in this chest and tells himself to man up. He has no right to grieve when he’s responsible for getting his best friend injured. Everyone told him the crash wasn’t his fault, but he was the one behind the wheel; he was the one who lost control and smashed them into a wall when the drunk driver had t-boned them. One of the main reasons Jared moved from Texas to New York was because in the city he wouldn’t need to drive.

 

The dead end admin job at Brooklyn College and the self imposed isolation, all mixed in with the harshness of the New York winter is a kind of penance for Jared – his exile on Main Street is a step towards an atonement he doesn’t believe in.    

 

Jared travels to work every day on the subway. Unlike most of his fellow commuters, he finds it hard to switch off from his surroundings since he drove his car into that wall, and he hates plugging himself into a phone or music player, because when his brain’s idling is when the memories tend to ambush him. Even after a long day at work, when he’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, Jared stays as alert as he can. He watches the crowds come and go and stares at the reflections in the dirty windows. He isn’t distracted by the plummeting temperatures above ground, or the pre-Christmas panic buying that preoccupies so many of his work colleagues. So that’s probably why it’s only Jared who starts noticing something strange happening on the East Side Line #5.

 

In between Fulton Street and Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall, where there should be nothing but the blackness of the unlit tunnel, Jared sees lights. This first time is brief, the train hurtling at what feels like top speed, though from the way Jared and his fellow passengers are swung to one side they must be rounding a curve of track that Jared couldn’t remember noticing yesterday or the day before. Hanging on the overhead rail, Jared is left wondering if he imagined the sudden flash of golden light accented with blurs of tan and blue that lit the darkness for a few seconds.

 

Except the next day it happens again. Jared blinks and the black backdrop returns, leaving only his own reflection in the glass. The third time it happens, the train slows when they reach the edge of the light, its brakes squealing as if they are about to stop, setting bodies swaying. As his carriage passes through the warm yellow glow, Jared sees a sign in fancy, shiny tiles, blue and tan. The tiles say City Hall and beneath the sign is a man busking with a guitar. The rattle of the wheels on the track and the roar of the engine is too loud, but that doesn’t stop Jared thinking he can hear a hint of a melody as he sees the man’s hand strike the guitar strings and his mouth open on a song.

 

On the fourth day, the train slows again and sails slowly through City Hall station. Jared’s heart skips a beat when the warm glow of light reveals the busker is there again. The train slows enough for Jared to take details as they pass through - the creamy paleness of the man’s skin, the competence in those blunt-tipped fingers as they move up and down the neck of the guitar, the dark sweep of thick lashes against cheeks flushed rosy in the New York winter chill. Jared has time to notice a hand knitted scarf around the busker’s neck, and the odd plum colour of his jacket, which looks too thin for the sub zero temperatures topside, before the tunnel’s velvety darkness closes round them again.

 

That evening, at home in his tiny apartment, Jared looks it up. City Hall station – opened 1908, closed 1945. Closed decades ago. So why is it lit up like a Christmas tree whenever his train passes through? And why has this only happened in the last few days? He checks the website of the New York City Transit Authority to see if there’s any news about lines being rerouted recently but finds precisely nothing. No works in progress, no planned revisions to routes or timetables, everything is supposed to be running normally. As far as Jared can tell, the #5 line isn’t supposed to pass through the City Hall loop, though the Line #6 trains use it to turn around. The website tells him that the last time the City Hall station was opened up to the public was years ago, for a special occasion, and for security reasons it’s been locked up tight and kept in darkness ever since.

 

He looks again at the wiki-page about forgotten stations of the subway and scrolls down, looking for something, anything to give him a clue. All he finds are ghost stories and urban myths, none of which mention mysterious handsome buskers.

 

The next evening the train is crowded, so Jared is standing when they leave Fulton Street station. He’s hanging from the rail, dipping his head to avoid banging it on the curve of the carriage roof, so he nearly misses it when the train slows more than usual as it takes the City Hall curve. The brakes squeal and people sway, shuffling their feet to keep their balance as the train stops. The doors hiss open. Nobody moves to get on or off, and it takes Jared a second or two to realise this isn’t their next scheduled stop. Then he registers the golden light on the green and blue tiles, the art deco lettering that says City Hall, and wastes a precious moment gaping.

 

Two sounds galvanise him into action – the rattle that indicates the doors are starting to close, and the rippling notes of a guitar being played. Jared shoves aside the stout guy wearing ear-buds and the tall woman with the big hair, and barely makes it through the doors before they slam shut. The train moves off, leaving Jared with the realisation he may have just stranded himself in a disused station with no way out.

 

Just as Jared feels the first flutterings of panic, the busker begins singing. The moment Jared hears that mellow voice, all his doubts and worries flee in a hectic flood, cartoon lemmings dashing off the edge of a cliff. His gaze, that had been wandering round searching for alternative exits, snaps onto the busker and fixes there. The guy is watching Jared with an intense green stare, which shouldn’t be surprising, as it seems Jared is the only other person in the station. Jared steps closer. Each note tugs at him, making the hairs on his arms stand up and he is drawn irresistibly forward, into the pull of those grass-green eyes.

 

 _Under the greenwood tree_  
_Who loves to lie with me,_  
 _And turn his merry note_  
 _Unto the sweet bird's throat,_  
 _Come hither, come hither, come hither._  
 _Here shall he see_  
 _No enemy_  
 _No winter or rough weather._

 

The song ends with a flourish of chords and Jared is suddenly aware of his surroundings again. He’s standing so close he could count the delicate copper freckles that are sprinkled across the guy’s almost perfect nose. He’s practically sharing breath with the guy; he can feel the warmth radiating off that creamy soft skin, see the gleam of russet as the light catches the light stubble on his chin. _Fuck! Talk about personal space issues._ Jared takes a hasty step back, blushing furiously, even though the busker doesn’t seem fazed by his proximity. He fumbles in his pockets and lets a handful of loose change drop into the open guitar case at their feet. The coins tinkle musically like a xylophone as they land and a chill brushes the back of Jared’s neck with icy fingers.

 

“Was that…was that Shakespeare?” Jared asks, suddenly eager to fill the icy hole in the air left by the absence of music, and to cover his embarrassment. Unfortunately, his gabbling kind of sabotages the latter part of his plan. “I mean, it was great, don’t get me wrong. I just thought, you know, you’d get more money playing Christmassy stuff, this time of year.”

 

Busker-guy rolls his eyes expressively at the dearth of paying passers-by, and Jared blushes again. “Oh yeah, sorry, but I mean, wouldn’t you be better off playing one of the main stations? I didn’t think this one was even open any more.”

 

Jared shivers then, a full body shudder that hits him out of nowhere, and he realises the temperature just dropped a few more degrees. The draft that had been prickling the back of his neck intensifies, and he wishes, not for the first time since the East Coast winter set in, that he had enough money to buy a decent warm coat. Back in Texas his pea coat had been plenty warm enough. New York was crueller in so many ways.

 

The busker strikes a chord that sets Jared shivering harder, and starts to sing again. Unlike the first song, this one isn’t alluring. The notes fall over each other in deliberate disharmonies that make Jared wince and it takes him until the bridge to recognise the song. Plus, to be fair to Jared, Busker-guy doesn’t sound anything like Joe Cocker.

 

 _Unchain my heart_  
_Baby let me be_  
 _'Cause you don't care_  
 _Let me_  
 _Set me free_  
  
_Unchain my heart_  
 _Baby let me go_  
 _Unchain my heart_  
 _'Cause you don't love me no more…_

 

The lights flicker, and when they come back up, Jared would swear they are much dimmer than before. Busker-guy’s eyes are wide but the green has darkened. Now they are less sunny glade, and more dense pine forest. Jared’s heart feels every note as if the busker is plucking on him instead of the guitar strings; every nerve in his body is jangling and on edge. Busker’s gaze is laden with significance. _Unchain my heart_ rivets Jared in place though everything is telling him he should be trying to leave, that something is very wrong here. Jared blinks against the gathering gloom. He’s sure for a second he can see a tangle of twisted silver threads wrapped round the busker’s neck and wrists, trailing off into the tiles behind the guy’s back. They look like chains. Jared shakes his head. Ridiculous. It’s just the power of suggestion from the song’s lyrics.

 

But he can’t shake off the growing sense of foreboding that’s sweeping through the tunnel, blown on a cold wind ahead of twin glowing lights like the eyes of a dragon– _oh thank fuck, it’s a train!_ Jared curses his stupid overactive imagination. _Dragons indeed…huh_. The distant thunder gets louder and Jared finally manages to tear his eyes away from the busker to take in the glare of train-lights brightening the tunnel. He finds himself muttering incoherent prayers that the damn train is going to stop for him, suddenly desperate to get out of there and re-join normality.

 

The roar of the train reverberates through the ground under Jared’s feet, the screech of the brakes setting his teeth on edge, even while the sound fills him with relief because it means it must be stopping. Over the tumult Jared almost misses the busker’s last chord and soft words that end the song –

 

 _Oh_  
_You don't care_  
 _Please set me free_

 

Almost misses, but not quite. Jared hesitates, torn. The air hisses as the train doors open, and he knows he only has a moment to make up his mind. The busker has fallen silent, his shoulders sagging as if weighed down, his right hand hovering over the strings while his left grips the neck of the guitar so hard Jared can see the bloodless knuckles gleaming white in the growing gloom. Darkness is creeping up on them like something alive and malevolent. It already surrounds the busker, threatening to engulf him. The only light is coming from the inside of the stationary carriages, the doors gaping wide to spill yellow onto the platform and sending Jared’s shadow long up the tile walls.

 

Jared doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, but something’s telling him there isn’t time to think, only act. So he moves, faster than he thought possible. He reaches the busker in two strides and grabs his arm.

 

The moment Jared touches the man, a bell rings – a single toll, sharp and clear like something breaking. The train hisses again and the busker shouts RUN!

 

Jared doesn’t need telling twice and grips the man’s arm tight as they leap for the light.

 

~*~*~

 

The train lurches into motion and Jared looks around in confusion. The busker has vanished and Jared’s hanging onto the rail like he was half an hour ago. Even though he knows it’s impossible, the exact same people surround him that had been there when he’d jumped off the train. There’s the fat guy in the suit with his ear-buds firmly in place, and when he turns his head the tall woman’s frizzy hair is tickling his nose, just as it had done since she’d gotten on the train at Bergen Street. Wide eyed and a little frantic, Jared scans the carriage for the attractively spiked short brown hair and green, green eyes of his busker, but there is no sign of the guy. No guitar, no ridiculously handsome face, nothing unusual at all.

 

Or so he thinks until he feels something sharp pricking his chest. He looks down and his mouth drops open in shock. He’s nose to nose with a rather cross-looking ginger kitten, nestled inside his pea-coat. It wrinkles its tiny pink nose and digs its needle-sharp claws through his sweater and shirt right into his pecs again, as if it’s making sure he’s paying attention. He can’t help emitting an unmanly squeak, which gets him some strange looks from his neighbouring commuters, who are now shifting about, clearly wishing they could move away from the shaggy giant. No doubt they’d previously thought Jared harmless, and are now frustrated that due to the rush hour crowds they’re unable to do much other than fidget and glare. Jared hunches his shoulders and tries to look less conspicuous, and after a couple more stops (legitimate ones this time) his strategy seems to be working. Big hair gets off and is replaced by a slim girl with elegant cornrows, who coincidentally takes up half the space without that hair, and fits easily under Jared’s armpit. Stout dude exits, standing on several feet on his way off the train and the carriage’s attention shifts from Jared’s peculiarities to agreement that people should look where they’re fucking well going. Comments that are wasted on stout dude, as he’s still plugged in to his iPod.

 

The kitten is a ball of heat snug against Jared’s heart, and he surreptitiously risks sneaking a finger inside his coat to stroke its tiny skull. Its fur is silky-soft and Jared thinks it must have gone to sleep until he feels its purr vibrating through his sternum with a power far out of proportion to its size. In spite of the weirdness surrounding its presence, there’s something reassuring about feeling both purr and fur – physical evidence that Jared isn’t hallucinating the kitten’s existence, though he has no idea how to explain anything that just happened. He glances at his watch again to confirm the impossible – not enough time has passed to account for the train stopping at City Hall, Jared getting off, listening to two songs and talking to the mystery busker, and the next train arriving. Let alone the fact that the train that had turned up was the same train he’d just got off.

 

Thinking about all this eccentricity is making Jared feel like Alice in _Through the Looking Glass_. He’s half expecting the White Queen to stick her head through the train window to tell him how easy it is to believe the impossible, especially before breakfast. It’s giving him a headache, so he can be forgiven for taking another two stops to notice that the carriage is getting colder, as if someone’s opened a window onto the snowy streets above them, and that at least two people’s attention remains firmly focussed on him.

 

One of them sits on his right, a dark haired and dark-eyed man with sharp features and a sharper stare. The other is evidently trying to be more subtle; a woman with light wispy hair and soft features, so soft Jared can’t get a fix on her expression or describe what she looks like. Every time he glances her way she looks different, like her face is underwater and someone is blowing on the surface making it flex and ripple. It’s faintly nauseating and after a while Jared has to stop looking directly at her. The kitten has gone still and silent, as if it’s afraid of drawing attention to itself, and the only way Jared can be sure it’s still alive is the faint frantic flutter of its heartbeat against his fingers.

 

Jared has never been so happy to see the sign for his stop. It’s not even seven and this evening already seems to have gone on forever. All he wants to do is get home and crash – except he’s now got a small creature to look after. His mind races, cataloguing the contents of his fridge (meagre and without much that a baby could digest) and wondering about things like litter trays, all the while keeping half an eye on his two strangely menacing watchers. A handful of commuters exit with Jared, and he’s relieved to see the watchers aren’t amongst them. He must have been imagining things, to think they were threatening in some way. _What is wrong with him tonight?_ He relaxes a little but keeps up a quick pace on route to his apartment, partly through a lingering wariness he can’t find a reason for, but mainly because it’s fucking freezing. He turns up the collar on his inadequate coat and wishes he had that nice hand knitted scarf the busker had worn.

 

He dithers for a moment at the steps to the old brownstone house where his apartment lies before deciding it’s better to get the kitten into the warm and come out again for supplies. The house hasn’t been modernised so there’s no elevator, or luxuries like heating in the communal areas, so the chill from the street follows him indoors. Jared takes the stairs two by two, puffing out white clouds of breath all the way up to his attic rooms. He’d chosen the top floor over the more accessible lower apartments because there is way more space up there, and he’s a big dude. It has the added bonus of some great views over the roofscape of Baychester, and if he ignores the lack of furniture and peeling wallpaper, he can pretend it’s a penthouse suite.

 

Jared roots around, looking for something soft and warm for a kitten to nest in, but the only thing he can find that vaguely fits the bill is his underwear drawer. He lifts the apparently sleeping kitten out of his jacket and can’t help marvelling at how pretty it is. Its fur is a mix of ginger, tan and russet, slightly rumpled from being squished between the woollen coat and Jared’s chest, and when Jared peers closer, he sees its pale pink nose is sprinkled with teeny-tiny golden freckles, just like the busker. Even as the thought crosses his mind, the kitten stirs and Jared’s staring into the greenest of green eyes he’s ever seen. Apart from …the busker.

 

“What the hell?”

 

The kitten, unsurprisingly, doesn’t reply. Instead it yawns, giving Jared a great view down its tiny maw; all pink ridges, white needle teeth and a fuzzy tiny tongue.

 

“Right. Right,” Jared mutters, reminded that he has shopping to do and a kitten to settle down before he goes. Seriously, he needs to take a chill pill or something this evening to get his imagination to calm the fuck down. He lays the kitten down in a pile he’s made out of his warmest socks, and smiles as it kneads the wool into a shape it is happy with before curling into the smallest ball of fluff ever.

 

He’s still smiling when he clatters down stairs and out into the cold again.

 

~*~*~*~

 

He doesn’t feel much like smiling when he returns to his apartment and finds a naked man sprawled across his bed. Even though the naked man does have one of the nicest butts Jared’s ever seen.

 

Jared stands stock still in the doorway to his bedroom and drops his kitty supplies in shock. Luckily the milk carton doesn’t split, though the bag of kibble isn’t so accommodating, and pellets go everywhere.

 

“Holy shit!”

 

The man starts to roll over at the sound of Jared’s voice, though not with the kind of alacrity that indicates alarm. The movement was lazy and fluid, like a – like a fucking _cat_. Jared just has the presence of mind to leap forward and flick the quilt his granny made over the guy’s nether regions before he gets an eyeful. A less noble part of Jared protests against the cover-up, eager to check out the goods. Another part is disturbed by using his granny’s quilt for such a purpose. Jared has to admit, the guy’s body has to be the most attractive he’s ever seen. Not that Jared’s had much of a chance to ogle that many naked men in his life, and none at all outside of magazines and the internet since moving to the east coast. He’s so busy blushing it takes him a moment to notice that the guy’s creamy skin has those copper freckles (everywhere!), which is when recognition finally kicks in.

 

“It’s you!” Jared says, then blushes when the busker, who is inexplicably and deliciously naked in Jared’s bed, rolls his eyes at Jared for stating the obvious. “I mean, how did you…what are you doing here? Actually, strike that. _What are you_?”

 

Naked busker’s eyebrow quirks, but he finally answers in such a deep voice that it takes Jared by surprise. Not that something so mundane as a voice should be a shock after everything else that’s happened tonight, but damn. It’s so much deeper and rougher than the guy’s singing voice, and it does terrible things to Jared’s groin.

 

“I’m Fae,” the busker says, his tone indicating that Jared should know this, and is clearly mentally challenged to be asking such stupid questions. Jared thinks that’s a shame, because he has no idea what the busker is talking about, which makes it that much harder to redeem his reputation as a reasonably intelligent person.

 

“You’re fey?” Jared struggles to remember the meaning of the word. All he can recall is something about people being fey and wan when they’re sick. Jared’s thoughts are in danger of wandering off into Victorian novels and consumptive opera heroines, but luckily the busker ignores Jared’s question and continues to offer some information that is potentially more useful. It seems the busker’s name is Jensen and he’s grateful to Jared for rescuing him. Jared puffs out his chest and feels heroic for a second before his brain kicks in.

 

“Wait, what?” Jared is lost again. “I did?”

 

At which point, Jensen must lose patience with Jared’s permanent state of confusion, because he stands up and steps right into Jared’s personal space. Of course, because God and the Universe are intent on blowing Jared’s mind today, Jensen makes no attempt to hold onto the coverlet that’s been covering his modesty and thus preserving a tiny bit of Jared’s sanity. Jensen doesn’t even blink as the bedding slides to the floor, leaving Jared to face the knowledge there’s nothing between him and all that glorious naked flesh but Jared’s pitifully inadequate layers of clothing.

 

Jensen is tall, but still a few inches shorter than Jared, so he has to stand on tip toes to reach Jared’s lips. It doesn’t seem to bother him, unlike a couple of Jared’s past boyfriends, who’d seemed to find his height a challenge to their manhood or something. Jared’s careening thoughts stutter to an abrupt halt at the touch of Jensen’s lips. A puff of Jensen’s breath on his face expels what little is left of Jared’s functioning brain cells. All his awareness hones in on the delicious sensations of _firm_ and _soft_ and _warm_. His own lips part willingly under the insistent pressure of Jensen’s tongue; which, Jared notices with detachment, is strangely rough, like a cat’s. There’s some part of Jared that’s probably going to freak out about that later. Much, much later. Just as soon as Jensen finishes undoing Jared’s jeans, and takes his hand off Jared’s dick, and stops doing that little curl thing with the tip of his tongue…

 

“Oh god, please don’t stop…” Jared mumbles through a mouthful of eager Jensen, and thankfully, Jensen understands muffle-ese and doesn’t stop. Jared follows blindly when Jensen tugs him towards the bed. He’s shuffling, awkward as a shackled convict, his jeans and boxers shoved round his ankles. He can’t kick them off because he’s still got his boots on, laced tight against the possibility of snow, but Jensen’s not giving Jared time to worry about that, or about how silly he must look with his ass hanging out underneath his work shirt and sweater. At least he’d had time to shuck his pea coat before he’d gotten as far as finding Jensen on his bed.

 

The bed where Jensen is again, this time on his back with his legs splayed sinful and wide, his pretty pink cock flushed and hard, leaving Jared in no doubt that Jensen is serious about this. A busker-come-kitten-come fucking sex god wants Jared Padalecki to…

 

“I think we should fuck,” Jensen grins at Jared, who can’t find words enough to agree and ends up head-bobbing like a nodding dashboard doll instead. Jared can’t remember his dick ever being this hard. He’s virtually dripping pre-come, he’s so eager.

 

“Oh, fuck!” Jared gasps as Jensen grabs Jared’s cock and guides him in between Jensen’s spread legs. The head of his dick slip-slides in a mix of his own pre-come and …lube? “You prepped?” Jared gasps as his dick catches on Jensen’s rim before pushing in, as easy as a warm knife into butter. “That’s so—h—hot…”

 

Jensen doesn’t bother replying, just grabs Jared’s shoulders and practically folds the both of them in half so he can attack Jared’s mouth again. The movement thrusts Jared deeper inside Jensen, and in between his dick being squeezed in the most exquisite way possible, and his tongue being sucked on like someone’s life depended on it, Jared isn’t going to complain. Jensen tastes like summer fruits, sweet as strawberries and tart as a damson, and fuck if Jared isn’t starving for more. His hips move almost automatically and the way Jensen is clenching round his dick is simultaneously exquisite and just short of painful, and if Jared doesn’t come very soon he thinks he might spontaneously combust.

 

Jensen makes a strange but happy mewling sound as Jared reluctantly loosens their lip-lock in favour of changing the angle of entry, and that’s enough to send an orgasm coursing through his whole body, as if Jensen’s tongue had lit Jared’s touch paper and set him alight. It’s the most intense climax of Jared’s life, he’s certain of it – as certain as he can be when his brain is short circuiting with a pleasure high like no other. His eyes are tight shut, but in his head there’s a full orchestra playing the 1812 overture. When he opens his eyes he’s convinced there’ll be fireworks and canons firing. What he actually sees is a room full of sunlight, turning everything bright and gold. The scent of freshly mown grass and oranges fills the air.

 

Wait, what? How can there be sunlight? It’s gone eight at night. It’s dark outside and probably snowing, knowing New York; so what’s this golden light wreathed around him?

 

“We’re bonding,” Jensen explains, leaving Jared none the wiser and a bit embarrassed at having spoken out loud. Luckily his dick chooses that moment to slither out of Jensen’s sloppy hole with a slight slurping sound that makes him bite down on the urge to giggle. Jensen doesn’t have the same qualms and starts to laugh, his warm body quivering inside Jared’s arms. Jared forgets how uncomfortable he is, with his pants still tangled round his ankles and his shirt rumpled and probably stained beyond saving.

 

After a few minutes in this awkward half-standing cuddle, Jared’s brain finally comes back online.

 

“I can hear you thinking,” Jensen says.

 

“Holy shit, really?” Jared blurts. He takes an involuntary step backwards, although why mind reading should surprise him, he doesn’t know. This guy can turn himself into a cat, after all.

 

“Not literally, you bluebell head,” Jensen continues, an adorable if exasperated expression on his face.

 

“Bluebell what? No, don’t answer that. More importantly, how’d you know to say _not literally_ if you didn’t just literally read my mind?”

 

“Um, because you asked me what was going on out loud - you know, using words?”

 

“Again? Damn.” Jared grimaces as he thinks about pulling up his trousers, then decides that would be a bad idea. He’s a mess, and he hates to think what state his sheets are in now. The golden light has faded as if it had never been, and with it the delicious scents of fruit and meadows. All Jared’s apartment smells of now is spunk and – he sniffs gingerly at his own armpit and winces – sweat. So instead of putting his clothes back on, he strips.

 

“I think we need to clean up,” he says, and Jensen is more than happy to follow his lead into the bathroom. If Jared had forgotten the strange circumstances of their meeting, he’s reminded now.

 

“You control the rain inside your home? I thought humans were lacking in magic, but this is remarkable.” Jensen joins Jared under the spray and Jared blinks. The shower stall was usually barely large enough to accommodate Jared’s huge frame, let alone big enough for two over-grown men but somehow they were both comfortably inside the curtain, enjoying water pressure that is perfect, instead of the usual fitful dribble because the water has to be pumped up five storeys.

 

“You don’t mind a few enhancements, I hope?” Jensen asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

 

Jared closes his eyes in bliss as the temperature rises and the bathroom fills with fragrant steam. “God, no, this is awesome!”

 

“As awesome as fucking me?” Jensen asks and Jared’s eyes fly open again as realisation and guilt strike simultaneously.

 

“Oh my god, I didn’t – I mean, you didn’t – um, I’m not usually so inconsiderate…” he trails off, looking down at Jensen’s still interested and sadly neglected cock. _Actions speak louder than words, Padalecki_. He sinks to his knees and glances up to enjoy the view. Water cascades down Jensen’s naked body, gleaming gold as it reaches that beautifully erect cock nestled in neatly trimmed ginger curls. Jared can’t wait any longer and nuzzles into Jensen’s groin. His tongue flicks out to taste the golden pre-come and his gasp of pleasure is echoed by Jensen.

 

“Oh my god, you taste like sherbert,” Jared says, and decides that’s plenty enough talking. With great enthusiasm he sucks as much of Jensen’s dick into his mouth as he can manage and gets to work. This is like a fantasy he never knew he wanted to have – combining two of his favourite things – candy and sucking dick. Jared has always taken pride in his blowjob skills, and he wants to make this performance one Jensen will never forget. He makes sure Jensen’s heavy balls get their fair share of the Padatongue, and from the way Jensen grips his wet hair and yowls his appreciation, Jared thinks he’s succeeding in his mission to blow Jensen’s mind as well as his dick. It doesn’t take long before Jensen is thrusting hard down Jared’s throat, and come floods Jared’s mouth. Jared would have swallowed ordinary spunk with pleasure, but this is far from ordinary, it’s fucking _elixir_. Jared licks and sucks every last drop out of Jensen’s softening dick until Jensen has to shove at his head hard to make him stop.

 

“Fuck,” Jared says finally, when he’s got his breath back. He licks his lips, chasing the last drops of the sweetest tasting sperm he’s ever had the pleasure of imbibing. “That was amazing!” he declares, feeling his smile stretching his face as wide as the River Hudson. He stands up and wraps both arms round Jensen, who appears to be melting, and kisses those beautiful, bee-stung lips. The water is still miraculously warm, and washes away the last of the golden light down the plughole, leaving the two of them deliciously sated.

 

Jared sighs, reaches round and turns off the faucet. He half drags, half carries Jensen back into the bedroom where they tumble onto the bed in a happy pile. Jared strokes Jensen’s smiling cheek, marvelling at the softness of the gingery stubble that’s sprung up seemingly since they fucked. He’s pretty sure Jensen was clean-shaven when he’d been laid out like an offering on Jared’s bed. Jensen doesn’t close his eyes, but Jared can feel a vibration running through Jensen’s body. It takes him a moment to realise Jensen is purring. Which is simultaneously arousing and a worrying reminder that this isn’t some ordinary pick up.

 

Jared bites his lip.

 

“Um. Don’t get me wrong, and I hate to ruin the moment, but do you think it’s about time you told me what’s going on here?”

 

Jensen’s smile disappears instantly, and an abrupt silence falls. Jared feels like the sun’s gone in, but he has to know, so he persists.

 

“You’re amazing, and I think I’m in love with you already, however crazy that sounds when we’ve hardly even exchanged more than a couple of sentences, and I’m a bit scared I’m totally addicted to sucking your dick, but you have to give me something here. Am I dreaming or are you really magic? Who were those people on the train, and why were you trapped in a disused metro station?”

 

“You’re in love with me?”

 

Jensen’s smile is back, and Jared basks in the glow for a second. He opens his mouth to answer but before he can even get out the Y of a yes he’s rudely interrupted by a loud knock on the apartment door. Jensen stiffens in Jared’s arms, while Jared frowns.

 

“That’s odd, nobody ever calls round here. I don’t think even the people I work with know where I live…” Jared mutters as he begins to pull on a pair of sweat pants so he can answer the door. He doesn’t bother with a shirt, it’s probably just a pizza delivery come to the wrong floor. His hand is on the latch when Jensen grabs his bicep hard enough to bruise. He swings Jared round to face him, green eyes as flat and hard as Jade.

 

“Whatever you do, don’t invite them over the threshold,” Jensen says. Jared nods, though he’s starting to fear that confusion is his default state. He doesn’t bother to ask what the instruction means, or why (or how) Jensen has gone in an instant from naked to dressed in the clothes he was wearing when he was singing in City Hall. Now Jared can see the outfit close up, the wine coloured jacket is made of a rich-looking velvet, and the pristine white shirt underneath is ruffled with lace, making the Fourth Doctor scarf look even more incongruous.

 

Jared opens the door.

 

~*~*~*~

 

A blast of cold air hits Jared’s bare chest, making his skin shrink and his nipples harden. He has time to wish he’d thrown on a shirt after all before recognition kicks in. There are two people on his doorstep – a sharp-featured man and a fair-haired woman – and though he can’t say he knows the woman from the train because her face is in that same state of flux that means he’s unable to fix any identifying features in his head, he definitely recognises the man.

 

“It’s cold out here, Jared Padalecki,” the woman says. Her voice is melodic and surprisingly soothing, considering Jared is sure he’s just glimpsed some very sharp and pointy teeth glinting in her mobile mouth. “May we enter?”

 

Jared’s Texan politeness, combined with the woman’s bewitching tone have him opening his mouth to invite them in when there’s an agonising pain in his ankle. It turns out Jensen's outfit includes some very sharp and pointy shoes, and he’s just kicked Jared, hard.

 

“Ow, fuck, Jensen!” Jared hopped on one leg, rubbing the bruise with one hand while holding onto the doorframe with the other. “You could have just _said_ something to remind me, dammit.”

 

Jensen shrugs an apology, but never takes his eyes off the strange couple, who are holding themselves stiffly in the doorway with frustrated expressions. Well, Jared thinks the woman is probably frustrated too, though it’s hard to tell when her face is so hard to see.

 

“Midhir is displeased. He sent us to bring you back, Jensen.” The man says.

 

“I figured as much,” Jensen says. He waves his hand in a sweeping gesture that includes Jared. “But as you can see, I have found a sanctuary here, and you cannot enter.”

 

“Perhaps not, but you cannot stay in this pitiful hovel forever,” the woman says. Her voice has lost its allure; instead it’s laced with scorn. Jared bristles at the insult to his apartment. It might not be Trump Tower but it’s home.

 

“Hey, this place isn’t so bad,” he protests, only to be ignored by everyone. The woman continues addressing Jensen as if Jared is beneath her notice.

 

“The moment you step across this threshold, Midhir’s liegemen will be waiting to seize you and return you to your rightful place at his feet.”

 

Jared is now pissed on Jensen’s behalf at the woman’s threatening words, even though he’s no idea who this Midhir character is. Whoever he is, he sounds like a douche. Jared squares his shoulders, ready to grab the door and slam it in the pair’s faces, but he forgets both the insult and the throbbing pain in his ankle when Jensen drapes a casual arm across his shoulder. Jared’s nostrils twitch at the waft of delicious Jensen-scents that the movement releases – a peculiar combination of cherry pie and something flowery-smoky that should have been off-putting but that make Jared’s mouth water. He stares down at Jensen’s smiling face, not caring about the dopey happy expression he feels spreading across his own features.

 

“I don’t need to stay here forever,” Jensen says, words which give Jared a momentary chill. He shouldn’t care that Jensen is leaving, after all, he barely knows the man. He’s not sure why he feels so attached already, he’s never fallen this swiftly or this hard before. He’s reassured when Jensen clarifies, even though the explanation deepens the mystery as far as Jared is concerned. “Jared gifted me with coin, and broke my chains.”

 

“You can be chained again, Jensen. Midhir is more powerful than this pathetic creature and his paltry coin,” this from the hitherto silent man, who turns out to be equally as scornful as the woman and, Jared decides, just as big a dick. Jensen leans into Jared’s side and Jared barely resists the urge to turn his head and nuzzle Jensen’s neck. This is all very confusing. Half of Jared wants to punch the rude people on his doorstep, while the other half really wants to drag Jensen back to bed. The bed part is currently winning.

 

“Can we hurry this (whatever this is) along, please, Jen? I think I’d like you to fuck me next, and time’s a-wasting…” Jared murmurs into Jensen’s ever-so-slightly pointy ear, and is delighted when the pink shell flushes adorably.

 

“Right. Yes, please,” Jensen stammers and clears his throat. “Look, Cathbad, Ness,” Jensen nods towards each of the uninvited visitors in turn, “I’ve got better things to be doing with Jared’s balls than freezing them off in this draft. Tell Midhir I’m not coming back; he’ll have to find himself another sex slave to pretend his tiny dick isn’t laughable. Jared didn’t merely break my chains with his gift, he forged new ones.”

 

The guy, Cathbad, takes a step back at this news with a look of horror on his face, while Jensen’s words seem to send the woman, Ness, into a kind of broken television-screen mode. Her face flickers and stutters so rapidly Jared has to look away; which is no hardship, as it means looking at Jensen instead. Jared is happy to stare at Jensen’s glowing golden freckles all night.

 

“You allowed a human to bind you?” Ness’s voice goes past scorn into an almost painful screech. Jared winces, but Jensen is unfazed.

 

“Nope,” Jensen replies, and his grin is blinding. “We bound each other, with ties that cannot be broken. Jared and I are soul-mates; that’s how he heard my call from the Hidden Lands, and how I was able to stop time for the few moments I needed in order for him to come and free me.”

 

“You’re a fool, Jensen. How could you hand over custody of your life and soul to a mere mortal?”

 

Jensen laughs and points at Jared’s bare chest. Jared flushes, then puffs his chest out in defiance. Why should he be embarrassed? He worked hard to get this ripped.

 

“Come on, Ness, you’re not blind. Look at him! He’s got the body of a god and he’s cute with it. Now, if you don’t mind, he and I have some unfinished business to conclude. Fare thee well, Cathbad, Ness. Good luck telling Midhir what’s happened!”

 

And with that parting shot, Jensen slams the door in their open-mouthed faces. Wreathed in tendrils of golden light, Jared and Jensen turn and head for the bedroom, oblivious to the pounding on the door and shouts from the two emissaries of – “So who’s this Midhir douche-nozzle anyway?” Jared asks. Jensen waves his arm in an airy gesture that scatters gold sparks across the room. “Oh, just one of the Lords of the Hidden Folk. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning, okay?”

 

Since Jensen’s clothes have vanished again and Jensen is already working on pulling Jared’s loose sweat pants down, Jared decides he’s okay with that. Anything more intellectually challenging than finding the lube and getting Jensen’s sweet big dick into Jared’s ass can wait.

 

Maybe this Christmas won’t be the wash-out he feared – after all, Jensen seems to come with built in fairy lights.

 


End file.
